Halves of a Whole
by SmurfLuvsCookies
Summary: Irial was part of them. He was a brother, a lover, a mentor, an enemy, and a friend. He was the third half of their whole, and without him they would never be complete again. Irial/Niall with a little bit of Leslie. One-shot.


_**Author's Note:** This is just a drabble about Irial and Niall, with a little bit of Leslie. Contains spoilers for the last book, Darkest Mercy, if you haven't read it yet. Also, I haven't read Stopping Time, so there will be no references to whatever happens in the e-book in this story._

_**Disclaimer:** None of the Wicked Lovely books or anything affiliated with the Wicked Lovely series belongs to me. It is the product of Melissa Marr's brilliant creativity._

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><p><strong>~NIALL~<strong>

I can't tell you how many phases my relationship with Irial has been through. Once he was my brother, the object of an admiration that bordered on obsession. Then he became the ultimate enemy, the very sound of his name ripping open a reservoir of seething hatred that also produced a different, darker fixation. I competed with him for Leslie's attention, and immediately he became my rival in love. I was made Dark King, and then he was my mentor.

I can't tell you when I began to love Irial the way I do now. Perhaps I always did on a fundamental level (there's no denying my feelings for him were always passionate, always powerful), but I do know that once he assumed that role, he officially became everything to me. He was the other half of my whole.

I can't tell you how much it hurts now that he's gone.

I have not been broken or shattered, or anything that clean and quick. As I watched Irial slowly die by War's poison, I began to fray, began to tear like an ancient tapestry on the wall or a trampled rug on the floor. Seeing the life vanish from his body was like having a part of me ripped out. It can't be my heart. I know my heart is still there, because that particular part of my body hurts so much. Perhaps it's my soul. Do faeries even have souls? Irial was undoubtedly my soul mate, so we must.

I'm not broken. I'm torn apart.

Sleep does not even put me out of my anguish. Irial inhabits my dreams, but what was once a sensual paradise is now unyielding torment. No matter how long I sleep, I know I will wake up to find him gone and the pain will be renewed tenfold. So I don't sleep.

I sit in my isolated room and stare at Irial's lifeless body, a body that will never again give me an arrogant smile, or smoke a cigarette, or even be warm. I find myself wondering if there has ever been a faery who has committed suicide. Somehow I know it won't be me, but that doesn't stop me from wondering.

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><p><strong>~IRIAL~<strong>

I hate this so much. The feeling of being trapped, of being oppressed, of being restrained. Even in those brief moments when Niall's boiling cauldron of emotion subsides enough for me to overtake his earthly form, I am clumsy and unable to say anything about my condition to anyone. I have to wait for someone to figure it out. There's no telling how long _that's _going to take. For once in my life, I find myself sympathizing with the little Summer kingling. You never really appreciate freedom until you're confined.

Then again, I suppose that being imprisoned is better than being dead.

And if I had my choice of fleshy tethers, Niall's body would definitely be up there on the list. I guess it's not all bad; this unusual situation also presents a rare opportunity to peer into his psych, to see the world through his eyes. It's an intimacy that I would only share with two people, Niall being one of them.

However, as pleasurable as Niall's constant company is, I wish he would listen when I talk to him in his dreams. Or lack thereof. He doesn't want to dream anymore, he doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to see me, because he doesn't think I'm me. He thinks I'm just a part of his imagination, a projection of his pain. He thinks I'm dead.

I wonder why he would assume that, silly Gancanagh. Niall should know better. I would never leave him alone so easily, though those last few moments in our stitched dreamworld before my body's death would have sent me away with a smile on my face.

I wish that Niall would notice when I caress is consciousness, when I cradle his tattered self in my imaginary hands. I wish that I could somehow let him know that I am here, I with him, not dead but not alive.

Most of all I wish that somebody would hurry up and figure it out so Niall can stop suffering like he does now. I hate the sight of those precious, ink-black tears. I've inflicted his scars, I've caused his screams, but never before have my actions led to him weeping.

I can feel an influx of emotion coming from him; the overwhelming taste of his sorrow would make my knees go weak, if I had knees. Carefully, trying not to alarm him (too much), I press my consciousness forward, into dominance, soothing the raging, chaotic melody of his presence into submission.

I open my eyes that are really Niall's, and I see that he's been visiting my body again. Niall's cheeks are wet. I wipe away the moisture with his thumb and see that he's been crying. With a sigh, I press the delicious tear to his lips and taste the shadows on his tongue.

_Oh, Gancanagh, love, why do you do this to yourself?_

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><p><strong>~LESLIE~<strong>

I'm not sure what's worse: the fact that Irial is dead or Niall's reaction to it. I grieve with him, I kiss his tears away, I curl up in his arms and wish that I could stay there and melt with him forever. I watch him inflict needless pain on his own fey and on Seth, but there's nothing I can do about it. Sometimes I wish I could do the same thing, because someone needs to know how much we hurt.

The worst part is when he dreams. I can feel it when Niall dreams; I wake up with the taste of his fear and his sorrow and his unadulterated yearning heavy on my tongue. It's clear to me that when Niall sleeps, he's not resting. His dreams are just as much torture for him as the real world is.

All the while I'm dealing with my own sort of turmoil. I will forever be Irial's Shadow Girl, and love him even as I love Niall. Knowing he is gone and that I'll never see him again makes it hard to breathe. Knowing that he was murdered in cold blood makes it worse.

I hope that somebody kills Bananach soon, and I hope that bitch dies a gruesome death. Pain is good in moderation, it keeps you grounded and it keeps you sane, it keeps you from believing you're indestructible, but anyone who causes this much pain deserves to be cut down.

A dark, feral part of me wishes that I could do it, but reason and instinct tell me I cannot. I am mortal and powerless by faery standards. I would be nothing more than a fly buzzing around her ear. I know this, but that doesn't stop the wild desire to jump out of bed and wrap my hands around her throat.

Niall jerks violently beside me, his bruise-violet eyelids flickering, his skin shiny with sweat. Glass shatters around us; the wood of the bed-frame splinters; his abyss-guardians become almost tangible, stroking his hair, his arms, his chest and dancing to their ever-present ethereal music. My fingers join the cold shadows as I shake his arm, hard. He wakes up with a gasp, sending the abyss-guardians away and leaving us alone in a black, broken room.

"It's okay," I whisper to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I'm here."

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><p><strong>~FAR DORCHA~<strong>

I watch the three of them with an interest I've never expressed in anyone other than Ankou. I observe them from afar and I wonder at the oddity of their complicated triangle. The last Dark King, the man who cheated Death, the new Discord, Irial; the once-adviser to Summer, the now Dark King, Niall; the Shadow Girl, the almost-mortal, Leslie. I watch them and I wonder how they can even _be_.

Their relationship is complex. Brothers-sister, a trio of lovers, two parents and their daughter, those could all be used to describe Irial, Niall, and Leslie. No matter what the family dynamic, one thing is clear to me: they _are_ a family.

I turn away from Discord, the Dark King, and their Shadow Girl as I restore my gaze upon Ankou while she completes her harvest. One thing, if anything, is simple about the inner-workings of the trio's relationship, and it is that they love each other more than everything else in the world. Perhaps even more than life itself.

_Well, one day I will be here to collect._

I smile as I take Ankou's hand, a smile that she does not return, and together we walk in the opposite direction of the dark triple, away from the battlefield, out of the little town called Huntsville and into the world of Faerie where we rightfully belong.


End file.
